Goodnight, Sweet Beloved
by Unpersonified
Summary: [Ch 2 up!] Her kiss goodnight. It was a simple gesture of affection, cultivated since humanity began, to wish another well into the peaceful world of sleep. To him, however, it was the caress of angel’s wings. [CloTi.] Post AC. Six shot.
1. Part One: Unlikely Remedy

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**Title**: Goodnight, Sweet Beloved

**Genre**: Romance / Family

**Rating**: K+

**Pairing**: Cloud x Tifa (couldn't be any more obvious, now, can it?)

**Disclaimer**: Oh, the things I would make them do, if I owned Cloud Strife and Tifa Lockhart…

**A**/**N**: A test-run to see if I'm capable of writing fluff. Not the most original of concepts, unfortunately, but I decided that it's time to rid it from my system lest CloTi-induced insanity ensues.

This was intended to be a one-shot, but it somehow got too long. So I decided to break it up into six ficlets.

**Plot** **Summary**:

Her kiss goodnight. It was a simple gesture of affection, cultivated since humanity began, to wish another well into the peaceful world of sleep. To him, however, it was the caress of angel's wings. CloTi. Post AC. Six-shot.

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**G**oodnight, **S**weet **B**eloved

**Part One**: Unlikely Remedy

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I had always been fascinated with Tifa Lockhart.

Young, I was then, and yet so inescapably captivated. A neat, blue bow atop her fair head, she was the girl next door, one who could not help but capture the attention of every eye. Her smile was the sun's radiance upon a dull, barren land, her shy laughter, a rhapsody of the purest birdsong. One could not call her running so much as dancing, her feet pattering across the ground like a rain of soft kisses, as they pranced and pirouetted in her joyous fury.

She was Nibelheim's beloved, a dove amidst a flock of ravens.

No, not a dove. Doves were white. Inadvertently, her hair had already dispelled that image – darker than chocolate, lighter than ebony. It swept across moon-kissed skin that was indeed white, yet brighter, bestowing upon her a still greater elegance even as she sat there in her variegated glory.

No, she was not a dove. Neither an angel, nor a goddess. She was merely – Tifa Lockhart. For there were no words that could possibly compare with her beauty, no words that had worth or meaning enough to describe her truly, completely. They were flawed, flawed in the way that she was flawed – too absolute in their definitions to account for the whole. What right had I to name her dove, angel or goddess – symbols of perfection – when it was her flaws, together with her admirable qualities, that made her the person who she was?

And the person whom I loved most.

In her all-encompassing imperfection, she had stolen my heart. Hers, was the attention I had always sought after. Hers, was the embrace I would but willingly surrender myself into.

Unfortunately, I had not realized all of this till now.

Blinded by chaotic emotions and feats of heroism, I had disregarded all around me, only pursuing my interests with single-minded determination. Some led to destruction, others, to escape. Whether they involved the re-assembly of my mismatched identity, or the struggle for the Planet's survival, only one thing was evident. In the midst of confusion, I had failed to see the single, most important fact of my life.

She was always there for me.

Loyally, she had waited, my concerns utmost, as I defeated my arch-enemy, banished his lingering remnants and overcame my guilt. And even as she waited, she had offered aid, comfort, and most importantly of all, her confidence in me. Countless were the times she had rescued me from the depths of self-despair, uplifting me even in my somber aloofness, taking assurance in my oh-so-fragile bravado. Had it not been for her, I would not be standing here today.

Or propped halfway up against the headboard of my bed, actually.

Not that the aforementioned were cause for my fondness of her. Of course, one could hardly go by being human without reciprocating some kind of friendship in turn. But what I felt, was born of something with an entirely different nature.

And it was stealing the very breath from my lips right this instant.

_Her_.

Neither her deeds, nor her love, but her. Simply _her_.

And so, was I fascinated.

Blessed was the one to behold Tifa Lockhart, and whether or not I be in this affection-drunken stupor that some vindictive love-deity had cast upon me, I would have to agree.

The curtains in my room were drawn, allowing but a sliver of the pale afternoon sun to trickle through. Though a wan and flickering sliver it be, it was sufficient to illuminate all that needed to be illuminated – namely, the woman by my bedside.

She was seated on a wooden stool, a tray carrying a bowl and various phials in her lap. The light settled gently upon one side of her heart-shaped face, painting it a dazzling hue of creamy golden even as the other half reclined in shadow. Every now and then, her fine brows would furrow in concentration, accompanied by a slight twitch of her dainty nose that I found indescribably endearing. Her full lips, tinged pink in the sun's glow, had me eyeing them longingly – for they were a temptation no man could possibly resist.

Needless to say, however, I was enchanted most by her eyes.

Almond-shaped, they were a warm hue of brown, adorned with red flecks that made them sparkle with jewel-like splendor. It was this mystifying quality that had one uncertain of their true colour at first glance. And that was not even including their uncanny ability to shift shades whenever she experienced different emotions.

Brown, exclusively brown they were, when she was happy. Likewise, they shone pure red in her anger. Everything else was any unique combination in between, from a glittering garnet in her surprise, to a dulled mahogany in her sadness.

I regretfully confess that I had been seeing the latter too much.

But they were closer to brown now, a misty cinnamon that, of once, had me clueless as to her feelings. They would flick to me occasionally, then back to her tray, eliciting an enigmatic smile from the corners of her mouth each time.

By the Planet, she was beautiful.

And I haven't even started on those glorious, womanly curves –

Okay, let's not go there. But she was beautiful, nonetheless (and still more so with those outstanding –), even…

Even if she happened to be mixing up some positively evil concoction.

I was no fool – the stirring motions of her hand were all too familiar. Why, otherwise, would she require that motley assortment of phials? The potion was to be made fresh, with unidentifiable bits and pieces thrown in, for extra nastiness of taste.

Sure, everyone would say that Tifa Lockhart always had my best intentions at heart. Under normal circumstances, I would comply, and unhesitatingly, at that. But, now, wasn't what you'd call 'normal circumstances'. If one had an eye sharp enough, he would notice the smug accusation in her glances directed towards me, silently implying that I'd deliberately gotten myself into this situation.

And therefore, I was deserving of this. _This_, being her retribution for I not heeding her advice about 'avoiding travel in much less-than-pleasant weather'.

Herbal medicine.

Smiling encouragingly, she pushed the product of her efforts – a bowl of foul smelling, inky black liquid – closer to my lips. I turned away, repulsed.

Bleargh.

"Come on, Cloud, drink up," she said cheerfully. "It'll help you get better."

Was that _amusement_ in her voice?

There was no way on Gaia I would let that vile substance go down my throat. Not especially with that overly saccharine grin on her face, which could only be masking some less-than-benevolent intent…

It brought out those lovely dimples beneath her cheeks, though.

A few moments passed on in fruitless discord, with her insistently pleading for me to accept her oh-so-delightful gift (note the sarcasm), and me, stubbornly rejecting it (obviously). Finally, she gave up with a sigh, laying down the bowl on my bedside table in the hopes that I would – eventually – drink it.

Fat chance.

"Alright, Cloud. If it suits you…" Her tone still held the merriment of her ironically futile persuasion, if tainted with a hint of annoyance. "I have to go clean up the bar now. If you need anything, I'll be back in thirty, 'kay?"

She disappeared out the door in a light sprinkle of footsteps, taking her tray and stool with her. The image of her mane gracefully swaying in rhythm with her hips lingered in my mind for a moment longer, before I realized I was alone. This time, with nothing but an ugly deskful of paperwork to ogle at.

Oh joy.

Lest you ponder excessively about why I was being served inedible soup, and in bed, no less, permit me to explain. The first, was because I had adamantly refused to go to the doctor, therefore did not obtain a prescription. Which led to Tifa taking into her own hands, the specifics of my treatment, which led to her fingering through a traditional recipe, which led to the despicable weed stew. (This, she relayed to me, with a nonchalant grin, was the same one she had force-fed the children with, in similar times of crisis.) The second, was due to my run-in with a storm during one of my deliveries, and you can guess the rest.

That's right.

I, Cloud Strife, ex-leader of AVALANCHE and (twice) saviour-of-the-world, had fallen victim to the **common cold**.

Unbelievable, isn't it?

Well, here's how it began…

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TBC…

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**A**/**N**: So there you go. Part One.

I had decided to abandon my usual style of writing (and vocabulary) in favour of something lighter and less dramatic to suit the atmosphere of this story. Word choice was still a pain, though.

My not-so-little slur on herbal medicine came from personal experience. Though I daresay I'm a little less fussy when it comes to downing the wretched thing.

Reviews are a welcome treat.

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	2. Part Two: A Wet Turnabout

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**A**/**N**: Thank you to all of you who reviewed! I really appreciated your feedback.

Anyway, onwards. Flashback chapter, less introspection, more dialogue. Hmmm.

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**G**oodnight, **S**weet **B**eloved

**Part Two**: A Wet Turnabout

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_Pitter-patter, pitter-patter…_

Armed with a bone-numbing chill, rain assaulted my already-drenched figure as I pulled Fenrir into the driveway of Seventh Heaven. All in one fluid motion, I eased her into park and disengaged the ignition. A glance upwards revealed only grey sky, and unearthing my cell would have it risk damage to the moisture, so I had to opt for my judgement of time instead. Hence, I came to the conclusion that it was evening. This meant that I'd finished work relatively early.

Nonetheless, today had been miserable.

With impeccable timing, thunder roared then, seemingly echoing its agreement.

Over the course of the day, I had been ambushed by several high-level monsters, caught in the path of a vengeful wild chocobo, and whacked over the head repeatedly by an impatient old lady (with a handbag full of canned pet food). Then I had to take an off-route track home through swampland to avoid a localised lightning storm. Which resulted, on the part of Fenrir and I, in two magnificent sculptures of mud.

To complete the present woe, I felt strangely fatigued, too. There was a dull ache in my muscles, one that had accumulated ever so imperceptibly over the last week, to finally overcome me in its sore wrath. I rolled my shoulders in an attempt to relieve some of the pain, to no avail. If so, the latter only flared with greater intensity, causing some not-too-pleasant words to erupt in my mind's cavity.

And yes, I had left those words _un_spoken. Too many innocent ears had already been scorched off by Cid's colourful etiquette.

I had a houseful of children, after all.

Trying not to let my pained winces show (because it would ruin my image as the tough, bad-ass dude whom everyone thought I was), I dismounted, draped a protective sheet over my beloved bike, and hobbled down the pavement over to the bar's entrance. Puddles materialized before my feet even as I walked, eager to engage me in a one-sided battle of '_How wet can you get_?' Needless to say, I managed to emerge the loser every time.

Yes, today was miserable, indeed.

Not even my hair complied. It dangled irritatingly into my goggled eyes; blocking out at least half of my vision with smeared brown (Need I remind you of my earlier stint involving a motorcycle and a swamp?). Remarkable as it was in its defiance of gravity – which, according to Red XIII, "_incidentally gained me the endearment of 'Chocobo-head'_" – it wasn't exactly impervious to wetness.

Impatiently, I pushed it out of the way, only to have it slop limply back into its former place. More silent curses joined my previous ones, raising today's profanity count to seven.

Don't tell him that I said so, but Cid… _wasn't_ the best of influences.

At long last, I reached the door. After a momentary fumble with the keys, I seized the handle, and stumbled in.

Blessed, blessed warmth greeted me, accompanied by the muted lighting of a bar occupied, but otherwise closed for business. Across the room, still dressed in her barmaid attire, stood _her_.

Tifa Lockhart. The love of my life.

She had paused in her actions, the wiping rag forgotten in her hand as she literally _scrutinized_ the latest mud-contagious intruder into her bar. Empowered by my mako-enhanced eyesight, I watched nervously as the happy '_Cloud's-home-early!_' expression on her face rapidly morphed into one of displeasure.

Oh-oh.

Suddenly realizing that the door was still ajar, I turned around to shut it – _BANG!_ – with… a little too much enthusiasm. Even so, I could feel Tifa's eyes boring into my back, taking in my muddied form – from my unforgivably soiled clothes, to my wilted _brown _hair, to the still browner pool sloshing about my ankles… Trust me, when I said that there wasn't any impression worse to be made to my cleanliness-loving, future wife –

Wait a second. I did _not_ just think that.

"_Cloud_…" said woman growled low and ominously, like a cat enraged. The image was so tangible, that I could almost picture her tail swishing back and forth in long, furious sweeps. She was stalking up to me, as indicated by her shoed footfalls, each step slow and deliberate.

Mustering all my courage, I spun around slowly, my throat already constricted in anticipation of the Tifa-explosion about to take place…

In three…

One…

Two…

"What's the meaning of _all that_ MUUUDDD???"

Her voice picked up in volume the further she went along her question, eventually reaching an intensity that could practically awaken the entire neighbourhood. Well, perhaps that was slightly exaggerated, but nonetheless. She had also – strategically, I noted – increased the proximity, so that a mere three feet lay between us. The end result was a truly marvelous blaring in my ears.

Struck temporarily deaf, I decided that it was best to feign embarrassment by staring down at my boots. Lest she interpreted my inattention as clueless stupidity.

"– told you to leave your boots outside…"

With a weary sigh, I sunk down to said items obediently. The first straps of the left pair were unbuckled, before, out of nowhere, a wave of dizziness struck me with the force of a hammer-blow. The room swam before my eyes.

"Cloud!"

I was suddenly aware of warm fingers clutching my right shoulder in a steady, but gentle grip. Shifting my head in that direction, I was met with a truly wondrous sight. Tifa's worried form hovered over me, silken tresses falling alongside to frame her lovely face. The darkness of my goggled vision marred her beauty not at all; in fact, it only accentuated the latter, highlighting the contrast between her thick lashes and her pristine, snow-white skin…

She did not bother to disguise her apparent fascination with my muddy appearance, either.

Sadly enough, moments like these only lasted so long. Before I knew it, she had realized what (or rather, who) the focus of my blatant staring was, and, with a mortified blush, withdrew her hand from me. I almost sighed at the loss of contact.

It was then that I noticed the hissing pain in my tailbone. Doubtlessly, in the process of removing my left boot –which still hung half undone in its same location – I had overbalanced and landed none-too-gracefully on my rear end.

How undignified.

"Cloud, are you alright?" she asked, somewhat tentatively. There was still a rosy tint to her cheeks.

Not wanting her to worry, I offered her an untruthful nod, before the following seizure of violent sneezes betrayed my intentions.

Alarmed, she helped me to my feet, before settling me heavily in a nearby chair. Hurrying to the counter to fetch a towel or two – they were kept in the cabinet underneath for emergencies such as these – she then rushed back to me, draping one around my shoulders and using the other to dry everything within reach. Well, almost everything. It wasn't exactly _necessary_ to mention, that, for the sake of propriety, some regions were given a wide berth to –

Still, I did not appreciate anything – however soft and fluffy it may be – shoved into my face.

Opening my mouth, I tried to protest, but my throat chose now to develop a mind of its own, apparently. Only a muffled squeak came out, one that, unfortunately, managed to convey not a scrap of intelligible meaning. Regardless, I think she understood though, because her wiping immediately became less vigorous, even gentle, to the point where I was actually ignoring the fact that she was doing something I was perfectly capable of, myself, and well, _enjoying_ her ministrations.

Eventually, she stopped with a final pat to my chest, and began slipping the goggles off of my eyes. My hair – much to my grudging annoyance – parted obediently as she loosened the elastic, before applying her hand to my forehead. Her fingers were cool to the touch.

Proving my suspicions correct, she said, "You have a fever. You've caught a cold now, haven't you?" Her tone was stern and exasperated, but her eyes told a different story.

Up this close, I could see the unmistakable concern in their sparkling wine-red depths. I was enthralled by them, enthralled by the raw emotion she displayed so plainly before me, as though she… _trusted_ me. Seemingly out of its own accord, my right hand reached out to touch her cheek – almost –

"Is Cloud home?" a soft, girlish soprano recognizable as Marlene, the household's youngest member, resounded from the stairway.

The girl in question appeared at the top of said place. Even at this distance, I could feel the joyous anticipation practically emanating from her petite form. The hem of her blue dress fluttered as she skipped down the stairs and alighted, sparrow-like, on the tiled floor of the bar.

"Cloud!"

Braids flying, she made a beeline for me, efficiently winding her way through the maze of tables and chairs. Tifa, noticing this, made to intercept her before she reached me. But Marlene drew to a halt of her own accord; her wide, brown eyes had widened still more in alarm.

"Tifa!" she exclaimed, raising a tiny index finger to point nervously at me. "What's wrong with Cloud?"

Hmm. Goodness knew I wasn't exactly the picture of glorious, radiant health, but I had not imagined myself to look _that_ sickly, either.

"It's okay, Marlene," Tifa soothed, laying a hand tenderly upon the girl's shoulder. "He's run down with a cold, that's all. He just needs to rest for a few days."

Promptly, Marlene nodded her understanding, causing a small smile to surface on the older woman's lips. She then gently disengaged herself from Tifa's one-handed embrace, before approaching me with hands on hips and a stern frown that did not quite disguise the innocence in her youthful features.

"Tifa told me that you'd catch a cold if you play in the rain." Her tone had adopted the same quality the woman she named herself used whenever the person before her was in need of a serious lecture. "Why did you play in the rain, Cloud?"

I groaned inaudibly. Here I was, being reprimanded by a seven-year-old. For playing in the rain, no less.

Her reply came not from me, however, but in the form of a young boy's smart comment from the top of the stairs.

"Because rain and cloud go together."

The boy in question appeared, his bright facial expression almost mirroring Marlene's for every crease and dimple when she herself made her debut. Enthusiastically, he leapt down the stairs two steps at a time, landing a little less gracefully at its end, before heading towards – you guessed it – me.

Delightful as the children were, I was not really in the mood for extra attention at the moment.

Unexpectedly, and somewhat to my relief, Marlene swung around to face him when he was within arm's length of her. Her overly large eyes were disapproving, her sweet mouth, drawn into a taut line. I swear, the girl had been spending too much time around Tifa.

"Denzel, that's a terrible pun, that is!"

Judging by his soaring eyebrows, her older playmate was more than a little taken aback at her unfairly-made accusation. However, he recovered, countering with, "How do you even know what a pun is, Marlene?"

"That's 'cause I learnt it at school! My teacher told me!"

"Well then, tell me what 'pun' means!"

"_Marlene_, _Denzel_," Tifa overrode them firmly, lest their bickering crossed over into more heated grounds. "That's enough. Why don't you two go back to your rooms? You both have some homework to finish, don't you?"

"But I wanna talk to Cloud!" Denzel demanded in a sullen tone, stomping a foot childishly in his fervor.

"Yeah, me too!" added Marlene as they rounded up on Tifa, their previous argument forgotten in the light of similar interests.

She was not the least persuaded. "Later, okay? He's not feeling very well right now."

As though to prove her point, I went into another bout of sneezes.

Denzel, witnessing this, immediately grasped Marlene's hand and turned towards the stairs. His steel-blue eyes held a certain weight of expectancy in them. "We'll talk to you later, okay, Cloud?"

I watched as his scraggly mop of sand-coloured hair disappeared into the darkness along with Marlene's ribboned braids. With a sharp pang in the region of my chest, I realized that their eagerness to be with me was not at all unwarranted. My presence had been duly lacking, after all. In the events of Geostigma that transpired but a mere seven months ago, I had left them, choosing instead to waddle pathetically in my guilt and self-depreciation. Although now those burdens had been relieved of my shoulders, I was still not… _here_ enough.

As the saying went, absence did make the heart grow fonder. But it was a type of fondness I did not want to nourish; I would rather satiate it.

Nevertheless, I could not deny it was extremely heartening to know that someone, or rather, three someones, were leaping for joy to simply have me around them.

Hmm. Maybe I'm starting to get the hang of this 'family' thing.

And then Tifa's glowering face came into view.

Or… maybe not.

"So, Cloud." Her arms were folded in disapproval and the downward tug of her lips was not at all pleased. "Why _did_ you not avoid driving in this… much less-than-pleasant weather?"

A watery sneeze was the only reply.

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TBC…

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**A**/**N**: Oops. I am so going off my sarcastic humour tangent, here.

Reviews are nice candy. Me like candy.

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